


for the (last) last time

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [88]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Break Up, Closeted Character, Drunken Shenanigans, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, F/M, Heavy Angst, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Loss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Poor Life Choices, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: The last time they see each other is on the day of Arthur’s wedding.





	for the (last) last time

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first instalment of the _Telephone_ series. Don't forget to check out the rest of the stories following on from this one!
> 
> Title inspired by [_I Keep Trying to Leave But the Sex Just Keeps Getting Better and Better_](http://structureandstyle.org/post/51738073581/i-keep-trying-to-leave-but-the-sex-just-gets) by Ali Shapiro and [Honest Goodbyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QiMUUc6PUGE) by Bic Runga.

 

 

The last time they see each other is on the day of Arthur’s wedding. Arthur knows better than to expect Merlin not to turn up, even if part of him almost wishes he wouldn’t; that would be too much like letting Arthur win, and if there’s one thing Merlin would never do it’s give in, even for the sake of self-preservation. Still, he arrives late and breathless, when Arthur is mostly dressed already and starting to panic, and it doesn’t help that Merlin refuses to meet his eyes.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, speaking more to Leon than to Arthur. “I overslept.”

 

“And underdressed,” Arthur points out, his tone sharp. It’s too intense, too much like real anger to pass as their usual friendly banter, and he can feel Leon looking at him in surprise even as he struggles to modulate his tone. “You’re supposed to be the one helping _me_ get ready, remember? Not the other way around.”

 

“Begging your pardon, Your Highness,” Merlin says mildly. “And here I thought you were old enough to dress yourself.”

 

“At least tell me you have your suit.”

 

Merlin drops his backpack and pulls out a rumpled garment bag. “Couldn’t exactly wear it on the tube, could I? Don’t worry, Arthur, I’m not going to mess this up for you.”

 

It should be reassuring, but Arthur can feel the implicit threat. If Merlin decided to, he could do more than mess this up for Arthur and they both know it.

 

“I think I’m just gonna,” Leon says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. He sidles backwards a moment, glancing between them both like he’s waiting for an explosion, then turns and high-tails it out of the suite without bothering to complete his sentence. The door swings shut behind him, and Merlin sighs.

 

“Are we at least going to talk about this?” he asks. Arthur picks up his tie and loops it around his neck, his fingers clumsy, and after a moment Merlin steps in to fix it, muttering something uncomplimentary about nervous groomsmen under his breath. Arthur stands very still.

 

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

 

Merlin snorts. “Right,” he says. “And how _is_ the weather in Narnia these days? I hear it’s cold this time of year.”

 

“I’m not— ” Arthur stops, and closes his mouth. “I don’t want to have this argument with you again.”

 

Merlin doesn’t say anything, still focusing on the tie, and Arthur forces himself not to fidget, not to think. Instead, he glances over at the window, at the bright blue of the sky outside. For once, miraculously, the mercurial English climate seems to have cooperated and produced the perfect day for a wedding, and yet the sunshine seems less of a good omen than something unnatural, as though the weather, too, has decided to put a brave face on things.

 

Merlin finishes with the tie and straightens it out.

 

“How do I look?” Arthur asks, holding out his arms and turning in a circle. “Think she’ll have me?”

 

“You’ll do,” Merlin says. His mouth makes a movement like he’s trying to smile, but he doesn’t quite manage it. “You look…fine. You look fine.”

 

Arthur doesn’t feel fine. Looking at Merlin determinedly not looking at him, his skin feels like it’s several sizes too small, the bow-tie at his neck too tight.

 

“Merlin,” he says, his voice low. Merlin flinches.

 

“Don’t,” he says. “I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

 

“Yeah, I do.” Merlin’s mouth twists. “‘I’m sorry, Merlin.’ ‘It was a mistake, Merlin.’ ‘Let’s forget this ever happened, Merlin.’ I can see the words written all over your face.”

 

Arthur sighs. “Merlin, whatever happened last night…”

 

“Whatever happened?” Merlin laughs. “I’m pretty sure they’ve invented a word for that, Arthur. It’s called sex.”

 

Arthur grits his teeth. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he says. “I mean, it was, but— I don’t regret…it. That it was you.”

 

“You should,” Merlin points out. “You cheated on Gwen, the night before your wedding. Hardly a recipe for a happy marriage.”

 

“I was drunk,” Arthur says sharply. “It didn’t mean anything.”

 

He wants to take it back as soon as he says it, firstly because it’s a terrible cliché but mostly because this is Merlin — of _course_ it meant something, even if not what Merlin had apparently been hoping for. But the words are already out there and he can’t call them back, and Merlin’s expression flickers for a moment before his mouth tightens.

 

“Fine,” he says. “Then I suppose this would be a good time to tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow.”

 

“What?” Arthur jerks back, feeling as if he’s just been slapped. “Where are you going?”

 

“My Uncle Gaius called,” Merlin says. “One of his previous partners is retiring, so he offered the place to me. It’s a good position, especially for someone fresh out of school.” He meets Arthur’s gaze. “I told him I’d take it.”

 

This isn’t a spur of the moment decision. Merlin has to have been planning this for some time, to move all the way to Wales for a new job, a different life. He hasn’t mentioned a word of it to Arthur.

 

Arthur swallows hard.

 

“Congratulations,” he says. “You must be happy.”

 

“Yes,” Merlin says. “I am.” He brushes invisible lint off Arthur’s shoulders, and takes a step back, summoning a tired grin. “And so are you. After all, you’re getting married!”

 

“Yes,” Arthur echoes dully. “I am.”

 

The fiction lasts only until the end of the reception, however, when Arthur emerges from the church hall with Gwen to find that Merlin is already gone. He checks his phone – a reflex, even now – and finds a text from a familiar number: _don’t call me until you’re done being a selfish prat_.

 

Arthur deletes the text, and after a moment’s thought, deletes Merlin’s number from his contacts list as well.

 

He doesn’t _actually_ throw his phone at the wall, but it’s a near thing.


End file.
